Not Just A Sun-Launcher
by lordstonefishscpfan001
Summary: The Trials and Tribulations of Dr. Epiphany Trebuchet.
Call me Sunny E.

Y'all know me as the sun launcher, the world's greatest sun launcher in existence. Allow me to introduce myself gents. The name is Mister Doctor Epiphany Enoch Daniel Captain Haddock Richard III Mikel Alsmiffy Rachel Trebuchet, PhD, MD, DDS, OBGYN, B.S. AE-C, CCY, BYOB, TLC. I am, without a doubt, the single greatest researcher doctor agent man the SCP Foundation has ever hosted.

What do I do? I launch people into the sun with the help of my friends: The Killer Ax (He's an axe, and he's out to kill), Cyantreuse (the single most attractive woman in the history of the foundation), The Deadly Moose (an moose) Moohab, (God among men, god among cows) and Moenennbys (he does stuff idk exactly what he does).

THESE

ARE

OUR

STORIES

Our tale of mystery and woe begins on a dark sunday afternoon at Site 394, located in the middle of the Narizona desert. You never heard of the Narizona desert? That's because it's a fucking SCP in and of itself, ya coot! In fact everything and anything at Site-394 is an SCP in and of itself. Even the walls are an SCP!

My job is I shoot stuff into the sun. Anything. I'm not picky. Dr. Berger (SCP-5674) served you some cake (SCP-840) and you hated it? INTO THE SUN IT GOES. Paperwork dragging you down (SCP-3567 showing signs of SCP_-J)? IT'S GONE. Like a fairy floating by on a leaf made of clouds that are themselves made of leaves and they are in turn supported by fairies.

Moenbbaysnenbys and I were walking along one day, (I was rolling, Monenenbysb saw me, he hating) when Dr. Kalinin (SCP-4000) the greatest writer in the history of Site-394 decided that y'know. They had this nuclear reactor and stuff, and it was the most powerful nuclear reactor ever, and who needs the SUN of course, right? I mean the sun is overrated for destroying objects. Right?

WRONG MUTHERFUGGER!11!1!

I was given one final assignment.

I would launch, for the final time before I was melted into molten wood and melted steel–

SCP-682.

They brought him out in his near indestructible cage. Even then he raged like a rhinoceros. Each slam against the walls lasted an hour. They had to enlist eighteen clones of Able to throw the bastard into my "sling of love", from which I would throw the loser into the heart of the sun.! There he would melt horribly and become dead from the insane levels of heat! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

sorry i got carried away there gents. i get real enraged at the thought of that stupid-ass iguana.

Anyway.

Where was I?

Oh yes.

"YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE THE TRUE WRATH OF ME. I AM ATANTI QL-PANAGEA DESTROYER OF LIVES, REALITIES AND ASSORTED BREAKFAST CEREALS! I WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED ARRGH!" screamed SCP-682 from his giant indestructible cage.

"I've never heard you mention breakfast cereals." said Monenebsysmonen quizzically.

"YOU'VE NEVER HEARD ME TALK ABOUT THEM YOU MORON AARGH! DISGUSTING ARRRGH!" said SCP-682 mildly.

I shrugged as best I could considering I am a giant wooden catapult and proceeded to prime the Pepsi-cannons that would explode and propel the turtle into the star.

"Die mutherfugger…." I growled as I readied myself.

"WAIT!" a voice called. "That guy is senior staff! What are you doing!"

**IT WAS DR. KALININ! **

I was very confused and wheeled myself around to face the man who would decommission me. He stood there staring at me. Our eyes met. We stared harder. Our gaze narrowed, we stared even harder, our gaze narrowed further. we stared so hard it Dr. Kalinin's nose began to bleed.

"This man is Dr. Lizerd, renowned scientist and Christ figure. Why are you attempting to throw him into the sun Dr. Trebuchet?"

…what?

"I have my orders from 05-13 here that clearly state that you are the biggest idiot in the Foundation and I am supposed to jail you!" I bluffed, hoping Dr. Kalinin's memetic properties would be discouraged by the sheer awesomeness of my trebuchet goodness. "This is one of our most famous entities!"

"YOU HUMANS ALL SUCK DICK ARRGH! THROW ME IN THE SUN ALREADY! DISGUSTING!" the apparent Dr. Lizerd screamed.

This was the final straw. I wheeled over to Dr. Kalinin, SCP-682 still safely in my swing. "You wanna make something out of it, little human? I'm a catapult mutherfugger! I'll crush you mate!"

We punched each other like two hippos locked in a judo match with each other. It was, in short, the fight of the century. I beat him up with SCP-682's cage and he punched my wooden planks. Luckily, my great grandfather Abraham Lincoln Trebuchet had taught me a thing or two about boxing. I was prepared.

The fight lasted three years!

By the end, Dr. Kalinin was ready to give up, and he revealed to me his secret plan.

"You see, I was going to unleash SCP-682 and put you out of the way, so I could use him to kill and steal the essence of… this guy!"

The guards wheeled him out of the facility onto the courtyard. He wore an orange jumpsuit but it was unmistakable who it was! Mooonenbys gasped.

"You wouldn't kill Santa Claus!"

For that's who it was, the big red man himself, beneath his prison jumpsuit he wore his trademark Red Suit™ and his Hat™. And the guards carried a sack that obviously belonged to him. It was full of Toys™, for Mekhane's sake. But there was something suspicious about the guy. He seemed oddly familiar despite his already present familiarity. He resembled someone I had seen before. It couldn't be…

"Dr. Kondraki! You're Santa Claus?"

"It's true, I am Santa Claus, I use my anomalous beard growing power to steal away from my Foundation job on Christmas Eve, and me and MTF-Iota-87 ("Elves") take our sleigh and delver toys. I confess everything. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone."

Everyone seemed satisfied, including SCP-682. Everyone, that is, except Dr. Kalinin. He cackled evily, reached behind Santa/Kondraki's head and pulled a zipper down. Where the crazy foundation doctor/beloved Christmas saint stood was the horrible groaning, rotting corpse of a U.S. President.

"While everyone thought is was good old Kondraki/Santa, I knew all along through my anomalous powers that it was really Zombie Richard Nixon. The most horrifying horrible thing of horribleness in existence."

"Oh," I said. "Okay. I understand now. Sorry about the fight, I totally see that this was justified" I said.

So I smashed the cage by flinging it up in the air and watching it fall. Apparently not as indestructible as it seems. SCP-682 then roared something about dicks and proceded to ravage the entire planet. The only people left alive were me, Kalinin, and Moenenbysmonebsybs.

So we settled down together in the remain of Site 394 and began our relationship. To be honest, they make great boyfriends. We currently spend a lot of our time listening to a metric shit-ton (The Foundation doesn't use Imperial units) of Santa/Kondraki/Zombie Richard Nixon's sweet, sweet Booker T. and The MGs albums and smoking copious amounts of SCP-420-J.

Speaking of which, could you pass me some more, Dr. Kalinin? Be careful not to burn my planks. Thanks.

Anyway, see ya around gents.

Tune in next week to hear about how I defeated Dr. Bert Fegg's famous historical novel The Nasty Babysitter.

Au revoir!


End file.
